The Child & the Dream 

A CHRISTMAS STORY 


MARION 


COOK 



































































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This book is Number <5^ 


The Child & the Dream 





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CHILD 


The Child and 
the Dream 

A CHRISTMAS 
STORY 

B Y 

MARION 9OOK 


M C M V I I I 

THE METROPOLITAN PRESS 

PORTLAND, OREGON 


k- ' ■ 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two vopiss Received 


DEC 14 t90a 






TO MY SEVEREST CRITIC, 
AGED SEVEN 


COPYRIGHT 1908 

BY MARION COOK 


I . The Child 

II. The Dream 

III. The Gift 


The Child 


HIS, little Dear - My - 
Love, is the story of a 
Child whom I am sure 
you would have loved. 
For people did love her 
very much, she was so 
quaint and dear. 

She was a remarkably 
bright Child and the 
beauty of her being 
bright was that she did 
not know it. She did bright things and said 
bright things and it never entered her mind to 
marvel at her own cleverness. However, I 
doubt if she would have thought of what 1 am 
going to tell you, had it not been for the 
Stoiyist. V - 'i 

It was somewhat absurd, the whole thing; 
yet it was an experience one would not soon 
forget. 

It began, little Dear-My-Love, on a certain 
morning when the Child stood looking out of 
the window of her own pretty room. She was 
watching two little birds which sat huddled 
close together on the branch of a big fir 
tree; but she really wasn’t thinking about the 
birds. She had heard Lady-Mother say at 
breakfast that it lacked but two weeks of 
Christmas, and she had not yet selected her 
Gift for Lady-Mother. She was so extremely 
particular about what it should be that it was 
difficult to decide upon anything. 

7 ] 




The Child and the Dream 


Presently the Child had an idea; and the 
more she thought of it, the more splendid it 
seemed as a surprise for Lady-Mother. You 
see, little Dear-My-Love, she wasn’t old 
enough to be very wise and so sometimes she 
did rather queer things. 

A few moments later she knocked at the 
door of the Storyist. 

She found her writing, as usual, but the 
Storyist was patient about interruptions and 
this time she set the Child lovingly upon her 
knee and asked what she could do for her. 

“I’d like some story-paper,” said the 
Child. 

“You may have all you wish,” proffered the 
Storyist, handing her a pad of scratch-paper. 

The Child fingered it critically. “Will it 
do?” she asked. 

The Storyist smiled. “I think it will — for 
you,” she said. 

“But you see I want it very nice,” ex- 
plained the Child, “because it’s for a Christ- 
mas story I’m going to write. That is, the 
story isn’t about Christmas, but it’s for a 
Christmas present.” 

The Storyist appeared interested. ‘“So?” 
she said, “Who is it for? But I think I can 
guess,” she added quickly. 

“Well, if you know please don’t tell,” cau- 
tioned the Child. Then she asked, “May I 
see what you’re writing?” 


[8 


The Child and the Dream 


“Certainly,” assented the Storyist, and 
showed her a typewritten sheet. 

The Child read: 

“ ‘Her voice was that smooth and slippery- 
like that you found yourself swallowing what 
she said without realizing till afterward that 
the words stuck in your throat.’ ” 

She read it a second time, but was sure she 
didn’t quite understand. 

“Is it hard?” she inquired. 

The Storyist looked thoughtful. “Not 
very,” she replied. “You just have to know 
what you want to say and then say it the best 
you can.” 

It sounded reasonable and the Child grew 
encouraged. 

“She’d be surprised to see it in a paper, 
wouldn’t she?” she laughed. 

The Storyist agreed that she would. 

When she went out she held tightly several 
sheets of t 5 q)ewriter paper and a newly-sharp- 
ened soft pencil. She was eager to begin. She 
set herself down at the tiny desk Lady-Mother 
had given her and everything was still for a 
long time. 

Of course she was very little to think of 
trying to write a story, but 0, little Dear-My- 
Love, she knew perfectly well just what she 
wanted to say ! 

And so she worked very hard indeed and 
wrote as fast as she could make her letters. 

9 ] 


The Dream 



N D that night, little 
Dear-My-Love, an odd 
thing happened. It was 
some time after Lady- 
Mother had kissed her 
and, turning out the 
light, had gone softly 
away, that the Child 
heard a voice say, right 
in her ear: 


“It’s very queer. ” 


She started up in bed. “What’s queer?” she 
said. But no one answered her. She sank 
back again upon the pillow and wondered if 
she had been dreaming. If she had — 

“What did you say was queer?” 

It was some one else speaking this time, and 
the Child raised herself on her elbow and 
listened intently. 

Then the first voice said, “Why, about the 
train, you know She might have known it 
would be troublesome. Of course, if it weren’t 
so long I could manage it better, but as it 
is — ” and the voice trailed off into a sigh. 

The Child waited to hear no more. “What 
makes you 'sigh like a furnace?’ ” she said. She 
had heard the Storyist quote Shakespeare with 
good effect. 

The voice answered her; its tones were very 
sweet. “0, I didn’t know you were awake!” 
it said. “Is this where you always sleep?” 

“Yes,”answered the Child. “Do you like it?” 


11 ] 




The Child and the Dream 


“It’s very pretty,” said the voice “It 
must be a relief to have a room small enough 
for convenience. Why, even this foot-board — ” 

“O, is that where you are?” asked the 
Child. “I’ve been looking all over but I 
couldn’t see you. Why, you’re Lady Ara- 
bella!” she cried, as she caught sight of a 
small figure, elaborately dressed, balancing 
itself on one end of the foot-board. “How did 
you get here?” 

“Well, I simply had to come,” said Lady 
Arabella. “I had to get where it was warmer. 
Did I hear you say something about a fur- 
nace?” 

The Child looked at her in surprise. “Yes; 
were you cold?” she asked. 

“I should say,” replied Arabella. “Those 
marble halls are just dreadfully cold; they’re 
positively frigid. Sometimes we dance as 
you told us to, and that warms us up. But 
I was too tired to-night to dance. ” 

If Arabella could have seen the Child’s face 
she would have noticed how sorry and dis- 
turbed it looked. But it was too dark in the 
room for her to see distinctly. 

“I’m sure I never thought of that,” said 
the Child, and her tone was penitent. “You 
see, I thought you would like the marble 
halls. But I never had any ’sperience with 
them myself. Why don’t you put on extra 
wraps when you feel so cold?” 


[12 


The Child and the Dream 


“Extra wraps!” repeated Arabella. “I 
haven’t any. The only kinds of clothes I 
have are dinner gowns and ball gowns. They’re 
not very warm, you know. I often tie hand- 
kerchiefs around my throat when that gets 
cold, but they are only ‘dreams of lace’ and 
don’t do much good. Don’t you think you 
could get me a wrap or two?” 

“Yes indeed, I can,” answered the Child. 
“I’ll see about it to-morrow.” 

“And a matinee for mornings,” Arabella 
suggested. “Something that won’t soil, es- 
pecially as I have to spend all my mornings 
in the conservatory.” 

“What makes you stay there?” asked the 
Child. “Why not go somewhere else?” She 
was by this time sitting up in bed, her hands 
clasped about one knee, intensely interested. 

“I have to,” answered Arabella, with an- 
other sigh. “I have to do what you tell me 
to.” 

“It’s too bad,” declared the Child; “I’ll 
change that to-morrow, too.” Then she sud- 
denly remembered her manners. “Won’t 
you sit down?” she asked. 

“How can I up here?” Arabella replied. 
“My train is in the way. If you could help 
me down I should like it.” 

So the Child reached out her two hands 
and, lowering Arabella to the bed, placed her 
carefully upon the counterpane. 

13 ] 


The Child and the Dream 


“Aren’t you going to bring Sir Marraaduke, 
too?” asked her visitor in dismay. 

“Is he up there? I didn’t see him,” said 
the Child. 

“He and I were talking when you first 
woke up,” answered Arabella. “Don’t you 
remember? Certainly he is here. He has 
to be always at my side, you know. At 
least, that’s what you said.” 

“So I did,” acknowledged the Child. Then 
she began to laugh. “O, dear!” she gasped, 
“I didn’t think how it would be, you see — his 
always being with you! O, I didn’t really 
mean that! It’s too funny!” and the bed 
shook so that Sir Marmaduke almost fell off 
the foot-board. 

The next moment she turned to Arabella. 
“You don’t object to it, do you?” she asked 
seriously. 

“Well,” Arabella admitted, whispering 
very softly so that Sir Marmaduke might not 
hear and the Child had to bend low to catch 
the words, “to tell the truth, it does get pretty 
tiresome. Yes, I rather wish he wasn’t with 
me all the time. If you could fix it so that 
we could be together just on special occa- 
sions, you know — ” 

“I see,” said the Child quickly; “I’ll fix it 
to-morrow to suit you. I have plenty of 
paper left.” 

Then she turned to Sir Marmaduke and 

[14 


The Child and the Dream 


helped him to a seat quite a little away from 
Arabella. She thought that relief for the 
much afflicted heroine could not come too 
soon. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she ob- 
served to Sir Marmaduke. “I didn’t know 
you were such a quiet man.” 

“Well,” he answered, twirling his mous- 
tache and settling his cravat after his change 
of position, “it’s a case of necessity. You 
said I did nothing but listen to the music 
of her voice. To be sure, I don’t mind,” 
gallantly turning to Arabella, “but I think 
she’d like to have me talk more. ” 

Arabella blushed prettily. “Yes, it would 
be more interesting for me,” she agreed. 

It was the Child that sighed this time. 
“If you’d rather. I’ll change it so you can 
talk more. And I’ll make your train shorter, 
too,” she said to Arabella. “Five yards is 
altogether too much. ” She began to won- 
der if she could remember all the altera- 
tions that had to be made. There seemed 
to be so many things she hadn’t thought 
of. 

An odd sound coming from Arabella’s side 
of the bed arrested her attention. She ap- 
peared to be in some trouble. 

“What is the matter?” asked the Child. 

“O, I do wish I could yawn!” 

“Why don’t you?” 


15 ] 


The Child and the Dream 


“I can’t/’ replied Arabella. “My fan isn’t 
here. I forgot to bring it.” 

“Do you have to have that before you can 
yawn?” 

“You said so,” was the answer. “You 
said I gave nothing but gentle yawns behind 
my fan.” 

“O, I’d forgotten,” said the Child. “But 
what makes you want to yawn?” 

“Because I’m sleepy, you little goosey,” 
returned Arabella impatiently. “I guess 
you’d be sleepy, too, if you could never have 
a wink of sleep from one week’s end to the 
other !” 

“I guess I would,” the Child confessed. 
“But why can’t you sleep when you want to?” 

Arabella eyed the Child with astonish- 
ment. “I should think you’d know,” she 
said “You don’t seem to remember that 
my hair is spun gold, and how could I ever get 
it combed again if I should lie down and get it 
all tangled? It would be so much nicer if 
it were just hair. Don’t you think you 
could—” 

“O, yes, of course I can,” the Child an- 
swered. It began to look discouraging. 

“And just look at my eyes,” went on 
Arabella. “Do you see anything queer about 
them?” 

The Child looked. “They’re very bright.” 

“Yes,” pursued the other, “that’s because 

[16 


The Child and the Dream 


they’re stars, you see. But I could see much 
better out of them if they were just regular 
eyes, I think. Don’t you?” 

“Of course you could,” said the Child. 
‘ h^nybody could. ’ ’ 

“I’m glad you think so. It will be a relief 
to have eyes like other people. If my eyes 
were once fixed I shouldn’t care so much 
about my ears.” 

“Your ears? What is the matter with 
them?” demanded the Child. 

“You’re queer not to remember,” returned 
Arabella. “They’re only pink shells and 
they roar so I can’t hear well half the time. 
There are other things, too; my mouth, for 
instance. You made that a lovely ripe red 
cherry, which is, to say the least, incon- 
venient and even tempting!” 

The Child sighed again. “I wanted to 
make you beautiful,” she explained apolo- 
getically. 

“Yes, I know,” Arabella replied; “but I 
think I’d rather be good than beautiful. It 
means more.” 

“But you are good, aren’t you?” asked the 
Child. 

“I don’t know,” doubtfully answered Ara- 
bella, “you didn’t pay much attention to that. 
I guess I’m too uncomfortable to be good. I 
suppose you think that I am not real and it 
doesn’t matter, but you see I am real — to you. 

17 ] 


The Child and the Dream 


You had to think me out. And so I can only 
be what you are — that is, what you love and 
think and want. Do you understand?” 

“I see,” the Child reflected. 

“And it’s the real that counts,” continued 
Arabella. “You can’t always judge from the 
outside — either of people or things.” 

“No,” put in the Child eagerly, “I know 
that. It’s that way with my sums. Some- 
times I will do my figures so carefully and the 
example will look lovely when, after all, it’s 
full of mistakes. ” 

“And there’s another thing,” replied Arabel- 
la, “your pride, I mean. As a matter of fact, 
you’re writing this story for yourself and not 
for Lady-Mother. And, candidly,” she added, 
“it’s nothing to be proud of. We’re not much 
of a success!” 

It was blunt but the Child knew that it 
was true. She was silent for a time, then she 
said, “It would be a good deal of trouble to 
make you all over again and, anyway, I guess 
I don’t know enough — yet. You won’t mind 
if I don’t?” she inquired anxiously. 

“Not a bit,” Arabella assured her. 

The Child was getting sleepy and Arabella 
saw it. “Come,” she said to Sir Marmaduke. 
“We’re staying too long.” He rose obedi- 
ently. 

“O, must you go?” asked the Child politely. 
“Do come again and — that is — of course may- 

[18 


The Child and the Dream 


be you couldn’t — but still — ” her voice grew 
fainter and fainter. Arabella and Sir Mar- 
maduke faded away and presently — 

It was the Storyist bending over her. “Good 
morning,” she said. “It’s time to get up.” 
The Child rubbed her eyes. 

And you know, little Dear-My-Love, that 
she had been asleep all the while! 


19 ] 


The Gift 


O U remember, little 
Dear-My-Love, how it 
feels just before Christ- 
mas. Well, it was that 
kind of a morning. Near- 
ly everyone carried mys- 
terious bundles, and 
Christmas sights and 
sounds were everywhere. 

The Child was very 
happy. She and the 
Storyist were on their way to buy the Gift. 
She felt that she needed advice. She had 
been surprisingly meek and quiet the last 
few days. 

“What made you give up your plan?” asked 
the Storyist. “Didn’t it suit you?” 

“No,” said the Child. “Besides, the people 
in it weren’t happy. ” 

“How do you know?” the Storyist returned. 
And then the Child related the Dream. 

It was all very interesting and the Storyist 
listened attentively. 

“So you see,” concluded the Child, “it 
wouldn’t do.” 

The Storyist thought. “What do you think 
a Gift ought to be like?” she asked. 

“It ought to be something beautiful all 
through, and something good and real and 
that would make people glad,” the Child 
answered. She had thought it out quite care- 
fully. 

21 ] 




The Child and the Dream 


The Storyist promised to do the best she 
could. 

They spent a good deal of time looking in 
the shops and at last made their purchase. 
Now it doesn’t matter, little Dear-My-Love, 
just what it was; only it was something that 
Lady-Mother needed and it was nice and the 
Child was satisfied with it. 

“But there’s only one Gift,” remarked the 
Storyist on their way home, “that is really 
everything that you say a Gift ought to be. ” 

“What is that?” asked the Child. 

The Storyist looked down at her very ten- 
derly. 

“Love,” she said. 

And after that, little Dear-My-Love, people 
often wondered that she was such a thought- 
ful Child and tried so hard to make everybody 
comfortable. But you know why. 


[22 


Here endeth the Story of The Child 
and The Dream, by Marion Cook, 
as done by The Metropolitan Press 




; r 

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